Category: Places

A day at the Poetry Book Fair

Free Verse Poetry Book Fair 2014

Ooh, poetry books. Trestle tables. Shouty snatches of conversation trying to be heard in the hubbub. “I wasn’t sure about his last collection, it it didn’t quite work, did it?” … “Oh yeah, did you hear? I got divorced – she buggered off to Germany, thank God”. It has to be Free Verse, the Poetry Book Fair, now an annual event and eagerly awaited by poets, small presses and poetry organisations nationwide. Last year I was a volunteer helper and a bit overwhelmed, to be honest, so this year I made a point of trying not to feel awkward, saying hello and chatting to people. This was greatly helped by having fellow Telltale Poet Peter Kenny to browse the exhibition with.

Having enjoyed the company of Lewes poet Clare Best on the way to London, my first port of call was the free readings in the open air teashop in Red Lion Square. Poets from Knives Forks & Spoons press were reading, one of whom was Sarah James, who I virtually met many years ago in an online poetry forum. It’s always great to put a real person to a name or a blog. Sarah was lovely and I ended up buying her collection Be[yond] in a sort of end-of-the-day buying frenzy. More about that below. Anyway, I then to-ed and fro-ed a bit between the room in Conway Hall where readings and discussions were taking place, and the park cafe. I was pleased to catch D A Prince reading at the Happenstance session. When a poem card came through the post from Happenstance with one of Davina’s poems on it, I knew I wanted to read her latest book ‘Common Ground’, so this was my opportunity to grab a copy.

josh ekroy at freeverse
Josh Ekroy

Back at the park cafe, it was spitting with rain but no-one else seemed to notice. Great to hear Josh Ekroy read and to tell him how much I’ve enjoyed his poems in various magazines over the years, as well as his Nine Arches Press collection ‘Ways to Build a Roadblock’. I hope I didn’t distract Martyn Crucefix too much by sitting with my raincoat over my head. (Worse was to come – later on I noticed the whole square was crawling with police and demonstrators on an NHS rally, but no doubt the poets gamely carried on amid all the banners and ‘oggy oggies’.)

I was planning to get to a couple more readings in the afternoon, but I confess to a long lunch break in the pub with three poet friends, even though there was no food available, so it was just crisps. Then Peter arrived and after we’d been around half the exhibition decided we need to take a load off, so back to the pub it was. So there was only half an hour until the exhibition closed and I still hadn’t spent my poetry book budget, let alone visited all the publisher tables. By this time there seemed to be even more ‘two for one’ type offers,  and I was starting to fear for the financial health of the publishers present. (“Three pamphlets for £11? Are you sure?”) Cue a bit more buying, and my feet were telling me to get them home rather than stay for the evening readings. This was my final booty (not including the various freebies which also found their way into my bag):

poetry books & pamphlets bought at Free Verse

Goodness knows when/how I’m going to find the time to read them all, but the first pamphlet I started reading on Saturday night, Isabel Palmer’s Ground Signs, published by Flarestack, I have to say is stunning. I foresee a blog post about it very soon.

I was very sorry to miss the Royal Holloway MA Students reading, as poet friend Jan Heritage was among them. Sorry Jan, I was in the pub and lost track of time, a very poor excuse I know, but I hope it went swimmingly.

Very nice to meet & chat with Roy Marshall, Emma from the Emma Press, Jenny Swann of Candlestick Press (who produce the brilliant poem cards), Meredith & Jacqui from Flarestack, Davina Prince, Marion Tracy and many other lovely poets and poetry-related peeps. Huge thanks to Chrissy Williams and her team of organisers & volunteers. I sort of hope the event doesn’t get too big for Conway Hall, as it has real charm as a venue.

Next year I’ll try to have a bit more stamina and stay for at least part of the evening. Eating properly would have helped – one piece of cake, one cup of tea, two bags of crisps and a pint and a half of lager later, I was happy to get home to a proper dinner.

On the music & poetry trail in Suffolk

The Red House
The Red House

We had a wonderful couple of days in Suffolk last week. First of all on the Benjamin Britten Trail, the highlight of which was a visit to the Red House, where Britten and Peter Pears lived through the 60s and 70s. Apparently they were hoarders,so with the help of receipts, travel itineraries, letters and photographs the archivists had a wonderful time recreating the house pretty much as it was when it was their home.

Britten is on my mind at the moment as his ‘Rejoice in the Lamb’ is one of three pieces our choir (The Lewes Singers) is performing in a concert in a few week’s time. The words are taken from the Christopher Smart poem of the same name, and the piece is mercurial and tricksy, not easy to perform well. But we have so many fine singers in the group so I’m confident it will be DARN GOOD. (And speaking of Christopher Smart, my Smart-influenced paean to snooker player Ronnie O’Sullivan just sank without trace in the Ambit poetry competition – boo! But it’s not bad – I WILL place it somewhere *evil laugh*)

Last week’s trip also took us to the Poetry Prom at Snape Maltings, with the very funny Ian McMillan and John Hegley. John’s set had a lot more melancholy about it, although his put-down to the over-enthusiastic audience members who started clapping in time to one of his sing-song poems (‘If I’d have wanted a rhythm section I’d have hired one!”) was the best moment of the night for me. Ian McMillan however is just irrepressible. My long suffering husband (on the drive there, his announcement that “I hope it’s not going to be just a couple of old blokes reading poetry!” had me momentarily stumped) actually laughed his head off.

Snape Maltings Concert Hall
Snape Maltings Concert Hall

 

Swindon Festival of Poetry

Hurray! First of all I managed to snag a place on the Don Share workshop in October in Swindon (before it sold out) and then thanks to a prompt from Josephine Corcoran I’m now booked in from Friday night, so I’ll be able to join in on Saturday also.

The Swindon Festival of Poetry, brainchild of the indefatigable Hilda Sheehan, takes place from Thursday 2nd to Sunday 5th October, and with the range of workshops, readings, walks and other fun events on offer I think it’s going to be a super weekend.

It feels like so long since I was able to think/talk/write poetry for more than a couple of hours at a time. So I really feel I need this. Can’t wait.

Come along if you can – for the whole event, for a day or for an individual session or two – bookings are open now and all the details are here.

Share crazy | Dickinson poem found | Hot stuff

Don Share

It’s all been a bit hectic lately, but I thought I’d just check in with updates on a few things.

Readings  – On Wednesday I’m at the Poetry Cafe with 5 other Brighton-ish based poets, talking on Palmers Green in a Stanza Bonanza. I’m wondering how little clothing I can get away with, given the typical ambience of the Poetry Cafe basement even in February (think Brazilian rainforest). From 7pm – come and support us if you dare!

Workshops – the amazing Hilda Sheehan has pulled off a right royal coup – she’s only been and got Don Share to come and give a workshop in Swindon in October – blimey! His fan club has got its antenna up and the Share-heads are already whooping it up on Facebook. I am so there – although of course I already have my autographed copy of Union – yeah, baby!

Found poem – Not strictly ‘found’ in that sense, but it recently came to my attention that a poem I sent to poetsonline.org has appeared on their website. It was in response to one of their periodic prompts, this one being Emily Dickinson’s first lines. Naturally I thought of ‘Poem beginning with a line by Emily Dickinson’, a little number I had written for the 2013 Brighton Stanza Anthology. So nice to see it given an online home.

Submissions – nowt happening on that front, alas, although I think I’ve written a couple of good poems this year. They’re either sat in someone’s slush/pending/unread pile, or underneath 5,736,204 competition entries somewhere, or stuck in the wrong box in a sorting office, never to surface until one day in 2196 when they might make it into a museum of curios. Who knows?

 

(Photo of Don Share from http://www.everseradio.com/)

Thomas, Plaice, Hurst reading in Hove

Siân Thomas, Stephen Plaice, Rebecca Hurst
Siân Thomas, Stephen Plaice, Rebecca Hurst

Yesterday was only the second sunny, (almost) balmy evening of the year, and I found myself (almost) beside the sea, amongst some magical works of art and listening to poetry at Cameron Contemporary Art Gallery in Hove.

It was strong reading from Siân Thomas, Stephen Plaice and Rebecca Hurst, and a super atmosphere thanks to the efforts of gallery owner Robin who played host. The building is a former garage, with floor to ceiling glass doors along the whole of its frontage, and we found ourselves sat sideways on to Second Avenue and the languorous comings and goings of curious pedestrians, even an Asda delivery van apparently pulling up to take a look. None of this detracted from the readings, far from it – in fact I made an interesting discovery – that outside visual stimulation actually enhances my listening. (It’s the background noise you often get in pubs and cafes I find distracting.)

Although I didn’t know any of the audience, both Siân and Rebecca are familiar to me from poetry events in Lewes and Sussex generally. Siân is currently Poet in Residence for the Ashdown Forest, which sounds particularly magical and Midsummer Night’s Dream-ish. She read a number of pieces from her pamphlet Ovid’s Echo, a collection inspired by Ovid’s Metamorphoses. I particularly enjoyed hearing her take on Medusa’s story. All the poets were great at introducing and setting the scene a little (but not too much) – I made a mental note to become better at that. It’s treading that fine line between too much of ‘this poem is about…’ and yet giving enough clues for the listener to enjoy the nuances of a piece.

Rebecca writes, teaches and is also a talented illustrator, as you can see from her website. She was telling me that she’s hoping to start a creative writing PhD soon, which will take her away from the area and from her job at Glyndebourne. Rebecca has such a wonderful speaking voice. Her poems had poignancy and energy, a compelling combination. And speaking of Glyndebourne, the third reader, Stephen Plaice, is well known for his opera libretti, as well as poetry and a career’s worth of writing credentials for stage and screen. Stephen has had two collections published, and he read some powerful pieces from one of them, Over the Rollers.

Ah, lovely to come away feeling inspired. I’m hoping to be back at the Gallery again soon, maybe to take part in a reading, as Siân was telling me she’s hoping to organise more events there. And who knows, maybe we’ve found a great venue for the Telltale Press launch?

 

Launch of The Interpreter’s House #55

Launch of The Interpreter's House 55

And so to Oxford, or the Albion Beatnik Bookstore in Jericho, to be precise. Martin Malone took over the editorship of The Interpreter’s House after the untimely death of Simon Curtis last year, and this is his second issue. I have to say, the production quality is great, I love the cover design, and it’s a cracking issue. It’s now on my ‘rotating subs’ list of magazines – I can’t subscribe to them all for ever, but I try to take 2 or 3 titles each year and then change my subs to another publication after a couple of years, which seems a fair way to do it.

It’s a generous move to introduce launch events for every issue – I wish more magazines would hold them! – but there’s a LOT of work involved, and that’s alongside having the small matter of a magazine to get done and out. With fifty-two contributors in this issue, and three issues a year… plus Martin has a new baby to cope with … well you can imagine.

I’ve had one poem in the magazine once before, when Simon was the editor, so I was thrilled to have another accepted by Martin for this issue, and even more excited to be able to read at the launch. Although there were 14 readers, the evening was beautifully paced – everyone stuck to the ‘two poem’ rule, there was plenty of time for Martin to introduce everyone, enjoy a bit of friendly banter and encourage people to mingle, drink and chat. Very relaxed and very warm. The evening ended with Merryn Williams, the IH’s first editor, reading her own poem from the magazine but also one by Simon Curtis, a fitting tribute.

For my part I was very pleased to meet Claire Dyer, whose name I knew straight away from having seen it in magazines, Stephen Bone, a Brighton Stanza member, and Helen Fletcher, who I hadn’t come across before but whose poem ‘The Drowned’ in IH 55 stood out for me, and she read a poem that had appeared in the Frogmore Papers 82 which I remembered seeing and enjoying at the time.

In the break, Martin Monahan came up to tell me he enjoyed reading my blog, which was a very nice surprise. I’m very grateful to everyone who takes the time to read this, whether or not they’re active in the Comments or ‘Likes’, and it’s always nice when someone introduces themselves and tells me what they get from it. In the second half, Martin read his witty ekphrastic poem ‘Fried eggs’. He’s widely published, including in such hardcore journals as PN Review (respect!) and clearly up and coming: watch for his name.

I didn’t win a mug in the raffle (boo!) but I did win a lovely mix tape (well, CD) – thanks, Martin! – which I listened to on the long drive home. It was the perfect soundtrack for that time of night, when the cones and ‘workers in road’ signs come out, and you’re sent on all kinds of strange diversions and motorways empty in a David Lynch moment. But that’s another story.

Anthology launch, plus Hilda Sheehan at Tunbridge Wells

A busy couple of days: Monday evening saw the launch of the Brighton Stanza anthology, a labour of love for editors Antony Mair, Miriam Patrick and Andie Davidson. Andie’s company, the Bramley Press, published the book and it looks excellent, though I say so myself. Twenty six poets are in the anthology, and nine of them read at the launch event at the Lord Nelson in Brighton.

The room was packed and we heard a good variety of poetry (performance, page, mystic), basically I think everyone had a good time. I had a nasty headache creep up towards the end of the first half which thankfully disappeared after I’d stuffed a bag of crisps. (This slightly did for my ‘fast’ day but what the heck.) What a lot of poetry love. The much-missed Jo Grigg would have been thrilled. I’m proud to be stepping into her shoes as Stanza Rep, but what a loss.

Then yesterday what should I see on Facebook but an alert that Hilda Sheehan was in Tunbridge Wells last night reading at the Kent & Sussex Poetry Soc. So how could I not hot-foot it along? I first met Hilda at a Swindon workshop, one of so many events and projects she organises and is involved in. The indefatigable Hilda has a lovely reading style and her poetry is clever, entertaining and just a tad surreal. You can’t help but get pulled into her orbit of warmth and goodwill.

Hilda Sheehan & Robin Houghton

Hilda read from her latest collection The Night My Sister Went to Hollywood (Cultured Llama) and shook up the good poets of Tunbridge Wells with her tales of hornets with men’s heads, loaves of bread slicing up women and seals living in the bath. Nice one!

Poetry bombing

Came across this – Poetry Bombing – sewing poems into charity shop clothes – how much fun is that??

Except I think I’d be spotted in a jiffy in our small, local St Peter & St James Hospice charity shop, plus you’d need super-quick sewing skills. Knowing my luck I’d be fumbling about looking for my reading glasses then drop the needle as someone elbowed past me to the paperbacks.

But it got me thinking – you don’t need to sew a poem (as in, with a needle) when you can sow one (geddit?) on other ‘stony’ ground – for example, little pieces of paper can be slipped into books in bookshops or libraries, or magazines, and no doubt you can think of lots of other targets, retail or otherwise. (Although it reminds of the plot of a rather rude book by Nicolson Baker, where the main character slips erotic messages into unlikely books and then lurks to watch how some unsuspecting victim is affected by them.)

OK perhaps it’s not a new idea, but I’ve never come across a ‘guerilla’ poem, and I’d love to! Have you?

What we know by heart

Lewes Bonfire night

Today’s the biggest day of the year here in Lewes – Bonfire. Not much I can say about it that will do it justice, but search for ‘Lewes Bonfire’ on YouTube and you’ll get the picture. For the first time in about eight years we’re having a ‘quiet Bonfire’. In other words, I’m not dressing up & processing, Nick’s not playing host to a houseful, we won’t be standing in the muddy field at 11pm and I won’t be down said field at 7am tomorrow filling a hundred black bags with discarded bottles, chip papers, cans, broken umbrellas and all the other detritus dropped by thousands of spectators.

Nope – we’re just going to pop outside to watch a procession or two, enjoy the odd beer and bangers & mash and then see the fireworks from our top room. Ah!

Having woken up at 5.30am to the first bangs I started saying ‘Remember, remember the fifth of November’ in my head and trying to recall all the verses which get recited by the ‘Bonfire Boys’ around town tonight under the banner of ‘Bonfire Prayers.’ But if it makes you think of wiggling a few sparklers in the back garden as a kid then think again. These Bonfire Prayers are recited with all the ritual awe and seriousness of the Anglican Creed. People really do remember, and may of them feel the events of the past as if they happened yesterday.

What rhymes or songs learned in childhood can you still recite? We no longer have an oral tradition in this country, unless you count football chants (‘We’re all agreed, Liverpool are magic’). I was reading recently about how in Russia you won’t struggle to find people who can recite poetry, from all walks of life and backgrounds.

I started dredging my memory. Nursery rhymes – OK, I can probably do a couple of verses of ‘Sing a song of sixpence’ or ‘Oranges and Lemons’. After that, hymns – daily assembly from age 7 to 18 left an indelible mark. Even my ex-chorister husband (who has an encyclopaedic memory for hymn tunes and numbers) is surprised at how many verses of how many hymns I can still sing from memory. Pop ballads, sure. But there are no new lyrics, although I used to love memorising Al Stewart songs (“In a morning from a Bogart movie / In a country where they turn back time / You go strolling though the crowd like Peter Lorre contemplating a crime…”)

Then of course TV. ‘Hugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble, Grump.’ And something I’m most ashamed of, advertising jingles:

Richard Shops are filled with lots of pretty things / lots of lovely pretty things to wear / hey there, pretty thing! Make the world a prettier place! / Come pretty up, come buy your clothes at Richard Shops! (Aaahh!)

Hmm… some nice (if unsubtle) internal rhyme there, but more repetition than a search-engine-optimised ‘buy now’ page. Believe it or not, that actually worked on me when I was about 15. I was desperate to shop at Richard Shops. And I won’t even start on the Flake advert.

Miss Cave who taught us RE at school (“Cave! That means ‘beware’!”) made us learn the books of the Bible to a catchy tune. Yes indeed – the entire Old and New Testaments. I wouldn’t trust myself to be word-perfect now, as I’m a little out of practice. But I can do enough for it to be a party piece. Of course it was just a mnemonic device, although many of the names have their own music – Habukkuk, Ezekiel, Collossians.

When it comes to poetry I know very few poems in their entirety (and they’re all short!) and some snatches/lines from other poems. There’s always been a movement in support of learning songs and poems from memory. I wish I’d made more of an effort to do so when I was younger and it was easier to stimulate the long-term memory. One of my mother’s great pleasures at the end of her life, when it was hard for her to focus on the here and now and even photographs had lost their relevance, was to be read the poetry she learned in her youth. Even the little rhymes in her school autograph book made her laugh every time I read them out, and it was a joy to hear her join in the phrases she still knew by heart.

If you’re around fireworks this evening, stay safe (and dry, if you can.)

At Ty Newydd, part 2

sea-grass-pylon

Here’s the longer post I promised about my week at Ty Newydd. First of all, some of the advice and sayings I captured from the tutors during workshops. It’s not a long list, but we were mostly doing exercises, so I just wrote down phrases that resonated with me:

  • Train yourself to remember details
  • Sometimes by going through an exercise of trying to remember something that happened in the past, you can surprise yourself with what comes out
  • When you’re in a poem, all else disappears – “touch the miracle by allowing this to happen”
  • “At the moment it’s falling apart like a glass of water that’s spilled”
  • There has to be a very good reason for a line to only contain two words
  • Think of verbs as the battery of the poem – they give it life and energy
  • Form forces you to “make choices and to be hard on yourself”
  • You need to love the ‘clay’ between the bricks (ie all the bits of a poem you make have overlooked)
  • There are some words like ‘flotsam’ that “only appear in poems”
  • You can say something more movingly if you don’t over-egg it
  • Have a rationale for your line lengths and stanza lengths – the architecture of the poem
  • Be careful about saying ‘not xyz’ in a poem because then you are saying it!

How we spent the time

There were 16 of us on the course and I was very pleased to find myself thrown together in workshops with so many accomplished and talented poets. We were put into ‘mini groups’ of 3 or 4 and encouraged to work together in our spare time. I warmed very much to my mini-group and I think we did some good work together – we certainly had a lot of laughs (or was it hysteria?) and shared a good amount of wine, all important elements of the bonding, of course.

The idea of spare time was an interesting one! I was in awe of those students who made time to go for runs or a long walk. Two of the days were rainy but I was persuaded to get a bit of fresh air on the last day, which I needed as I had a massive headache from around Thursday lunchtime.

As well as the workshops each morning and two of the afternoons, we had plenty of homework to keep us busy. I was very pleased with my week’s output – two poems that are three-quarters there and the seeds of at least three more. Morning sessions started at ten, so I usually found myself working in my room for at least an hour or so before. At the other end of the day I struggled. On Wednesday I was on the cooking team, so when the afternoon workshop ended we had half an hour ‘free’ until reporting for kitchen duties which then tied us up for the rest of the night, returning to the kitchen after Imtiaz Dharker’s reading to empty the dishwasher and put stuff away. The ‘secret poem’ evening was great fun, but by 11pm when it was drawing to an end I was absolutely fried.

train sign

The thorny issue of tutorials

A few of us (not all – one person took me task for bringing it up) were disappointed to be told right away there would be no individual tutorials, since it was clearly stated on the course literature that there would be ‘plenty of time’ for this during the week. Someone asked the question on the first night and the issue came up several more times, and eventually the tutors defended the decision by saying that individual tutorials tended to just waste everyone else’s time, and were only a feature of beginner-type courses.

The whole thing was (as one student pointed out) simply to do with managing expectations. Some of us had been so excited by the prospect of a hobnob with CAD or GC that it had become a huge selling point of the course. When in fact, if we hadn’t expected it, no-one (me included) would have been disappointed, because we would have gone there simply prepared to take our chances as and when. Which is what happened eventually on the last day, when someone came running into the dining room saying ‘come quick! this is the stuff we’ve been wanting to hear all week!’ – the tutors were in the conservatory, answering questions about getting published, pamphlets, how they (and others) had done it, advice & insider tips … all the things we wanted to ask. Within minutes we were all sitting around them like disciples, agog and hanging on every word.

The people

Naturally what happens in Ty Newydd stays in Ty Newydd. So no identifying details of individuals or the work we covered. But from my own observation, both tutors were extraordinarily giving and worked hard to challenge us and help us develop our writing. It was a generous and supportive group producing some wonderful work. I’ve got exciting names on my radar now: David Borrott, Ben Rogers and Ruby Turok-Squire, for example. Jenny Lewis, who won the competition on the last day with a brilliant sestina (which I had no chance of beating even if I had overcome my flounces about entering) is an accomplished poet with more than one collection already with Carcanet. Her warmth, expertise and sheer humility about her own writing were admirable.

By the end of the week I felt the tutors and students had come to a pretty good rapport. I’ve no idea how Carol Ann Duffy and Gillian Clarke teach so many of these courses and remain sane, cheerful and motivated. I have huge respect for them. I’ve never taught on a residential course but I know how exhausted I get after even a half-day workshop with demanding students. It was lovely that both tutors brought along and introduced us to their family in the evenings. The staff at Ty Newydd were so accommodating, relaxed and friendly; I couldn’t fault the atmosphere in that sense.

Relaxing in the library at Ty Newydd

Final thoughts

Several of the students had been on residential courses before, in some cases quite a few. I think I’d be reluctant to do it again in this format. Although for me the ‘outcomes’ of the week (as it would be officially termed I guess) were excellent, I was surprised at how stressful I found being hothoused with so many people I didn’t know. A smaller group would have allowed more real connection with each others’ writing, and might have felt less hectic. I seem to need a lot of thinking time, and because of this I’m not sure my own contributions were that helpful – it takes me longer than five minutes to offer meaningful feedback on a previously unseen poem. But I know there are the economics of numbers to consider.

What I’m hoping is that the payback (if I dare call it that – I was made aware that not everyone likes to talk about the poetry business in such terms) of the week will extend far into the future. I hope I’ve made some friendships and that there may be opportunities for future collaboration, mutual invitations and who knows what other projects. I hope I’ve learned some valuable lessons, about writing and much more. I think I have.

Robin at Ty Newydd